


The Wave Walkers

by Emotionalglutton



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blood, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, M/M, Magic, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mating Season, Merman Lance, Pining Lance (Voltron), Sort Of, Surfing, Surfing Hunk, Surfing Keith, Surfing Shiro, Teacher Shiro (Voltron), There shall be mermaid sex!!!, eventually, human hunk, human keith, human shiro, language barriers, mermaid Pidge, mermaid allura, mermaid au, merman coran, shark attack, world building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2018-12-16 06:32:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11823165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emotionalglutton/pseuds/Emotionalglutton
Summary: Lance is a curious Merman with an affinity towards all things Land Walker; despite the graphic warnings his mother told him as a guppy. He begins to visit the cove near his favorite cave in order to study them and as the years pass he becomes quite attactched to one handsome Walker in particular. He misses Wave Walker Shiro terribly in the cold months and always rejoices when the tides shift and Mother Ocean warms once more to allow the Walkers to wade out again.~~~Shiro is a kindergarden teacher in a small beach town on the coast of California. He's been surfing his whole life. When an awful accident pulls him from the water for over a year he has to find the courage to dive back in and get back to doing the one thing he has always loved.  The only problem being that surfing with a new prosthetic arm is a lot tougher than he had ever imagined.





	1. Bring Back the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I really enjoy Mermaid AU's and Ive been wanting to try writing one for myself. I'm just throwing this out there to see if anyone is even interested in this??
> 
> If so just make sure to leave some feedback so I know if you guys want me to continue or not.

Lance was an explorer, much to the constant consternation and dismay of his pod. He loved all things new and forbidden. Adventuring was a part of his soul. He really just couldn’t help himself. His favorite pass time was exploring sunken ships off the nearby reef from a time long long ago and collecting as many Land Walker artifacts as he could get his long-clawed fingers on. 

He had a small cave near the coast where he would hide these nick nacks away from prying and disapproving eyes and would often visit there to sun bathe on the rocks and watch as the Land Walkers would flounder out through the angry waters to walk on long flat floating devices. It was amusing to see them try so hard and Lance would watch for hours on end from his hidden perch amongst the rocks as they did it over and over again. 

As a guppy his mother would tell him horrifying tales of the cruelty of the land tribes. How they would net Mer and pull them from mother oceans tides to dry out in the sun or string Mer up with strong and unbreakable ropes by their tails to gut them and explore their insides. How they coveted Mer scales and would strip a body of every single precious one before they left you to bleed out in the sun. She warned him never to be seen and never to swim too near the edges of their world else he be caught and tortured in much the same manner. Land Walkers where a mighty evil that did not belong in the tides and where not to be trifled with. 

So understandably, it had taken Lance many a season to gain the courage to venture closer. He was in his seventeenth warm spell by the time he was brave enough to swim up to the coral reefs near the coast line. Still a few sand bars length away from the roiling swells above. But close enough for him to hear and taste the Land Walkers in the water. 

It had taken many more weeks of observing to realize that the Land Walkers were doing their water walking as a sort of odd amusement. Apparently, having mother oceans white waters push them back towards their home was something of great fun. To Lance it just looked to be an extremely vexing activity. They either fell off or the swells would die down and then they would once more have to paddle out to wait around for the next one they deemed suitable. 

It was only some moons later that he found himself wading in, far below; sticking to the darkened dips of the sand beds and the shadowed niches in the coral reefs to watch and listen as they howled and jabbered on in high excitable voices. Their speech was rough and garbled with no sort of flow to the syllables and Lance would wince at the ugliness of it. It was a wonder they did not make one anothers ear holes bleed with all of that barking.

The braver he became the more he learned. The Wave Walkers, as he had deemed them, only came for the warm seasons and Lance believed their bodies to be too delicate to handle the changing temperatures of the waters in the colder moon phases. Even the Land Walkers that beached themselves in the dry sand and splashed around in the shallows disappeared for more than half a full cycle. He also believed them to be of poor eyesight because while underwater they would, for the most part, keep their eyes tightly closed and even when they were opened wide their irises where dull in color and unfocused.

Of course, this discovery worked further in Lances favor because it meant that he could get much closer than he had originally assumed and soon began to take full advantage of it. He would sometimes swim through the swells; running his brown and blue webbed hands down the slick surfaces of their magically floating platforms, enjoying the bright and odd patterns on their surfaces, only to dart away as the Land Walker on board would crash into the water nearby or another would swim too close for comfort. 

He only got this close though if there were not so many visitors. Land Walkers seemed to prefer the calmer days and the majority of them stayed away from the white waters when mother ocean was wilder and the air above would howl more fiercely through the surrounding cliff faces. Only a few of the more talented Wave Walkers seemed to find this acceptable. They were usually the regulars of this particular beach, which Lance new from the easily recognizable patterned bottoms of their floating devices. 

One regular floating piece in particular never failed to capture his attention. It was long and white with the blue pattern of a female Mer across the majority of it. Given it was an oddly formed Mer; a short stunted tail with only a caudal fin at the end, but it was still a beautiful thing to look at. 

The Land Walker that strode atop this one was pleasing to the eye as well and Lance found that when he spoke his voice was a rich and deep rumble, the vibrations of which did not grate upon his sensitive ears the way that many of the others’ did.

He had short black hair and dark colorless eyes. The little bits of skin he did not wrap away in the tight black coverings the Wave Walkers seemed to favor was a light cream and when he stayed too long in the harsh rays of the sun above his face would redden a nasty blistered shade that still somehow came across as endearing. This one was Lances favorite. He seemed to be well loved by the other Land people and was often accompanied by two others of his kind that Lance had mixed feeling towards. 

The one with the plain yellow floating platform was fine and even entertaining to watch when the dark one was not around. The second one though was annoying and his angry loud voice never failed to drive Lance far away into the depths with its painfully sharp tones and aggressive snarlings. Lance didn’t understand what was wrong with this Walker. He nagged and barked and Lance couldn’t fathom how the two much gentler males could stand to be in his presence for as much time as they did. 

His floating device was angry as well. A deep red that reminded Lance of blood. It was shorter and more angular than the others and had a nasty black silhouette of a bull shark on the bottom that sent chills down Lances dorsal fin. His style of wave riding was just as violent as everything else about him and his nasty little board cut through the water in a quick no-nonsense sort of way that made Lance flinch and dart away with its unpredictable and sharp twists and turns. 

No Lance didn’t care for that one. He put up with him though through the warm seasons because he seemed to be close to the dark one. Lance would tell himself that this was the only reason he never knocked him from his platform to drag him to the coves floor below. It really wouldn’t take much. He had seen drowned Land Walkers before. They were not meant to be in Mother Ocean after all. But Lance knows that even if the aggressive Walker above wasn’t so close to his favored Walker he would never really bring harm to him.

‘Too soft’, his friend Pidge had always scolded him. ‘Too kind.’

Over time Lance grew attached to the yellow and blue Mer floating Walkers and even if he did not understand their language he spent enough warm seasons swimming beneath them to learn their names. Shiro was what the large dark one with the white and blue Mer device was called, and Hunk was the dark skinned pudgy one with the really long yellow one. The nasty one was called Keith, which Lance thought to be a very fitting title in a way. Short and sharp.

On the days that he did not obsessively watch the Wave Walkers or the days that they just did not show, which happened far too often for him to be any sort of happy about, Lance would sit on his warming rocks by the cave, fiddling with his Land Walker collection as he repeated their names over and over to himself. Sometimes smugly telling the seagulls as well. He didn’t mind that they didn’t understand him. Their agitated caws where enough. He tried to imitate the rough and choppy speech patterns of the Walkers, but it never came out in quite the same way. 

His small stash had grown to nearly three times its former size since he had begun to frequent the more populated areas and he delighted in the shiniest of the pieces. His favorite though was a dark purple double rope with a large black sharks tooth attached to it. Not because it was the most interesting or because it was the prettiest or shiniest item he had collected, but because it had once belonged to the Shiro Walker.

Last warm season the man had taken a particularly rough fall and hit his head against a bit of stinging jelly coral. Lance had winced, hesitating before swimming away to hide and leaving him to be retrieved by his fellow Land Walkers. But later, after they had all gone home and the sun far above had started to set on the horizon, Lance had swum back to the outcropping and found the necklace tangled in the broken pieces of coral Shiro had crushed earlier. Lance had carefully untangled it and tied the cords back together where they had snapped. It had easily become his most treasured possession.

Lance was sad to see the Wave Walkers go in the cold season and his pod was always concerned by his mournful and dispirited behavior when the tides changed and the cold waters passed through. Pidge, who was usually very absorbed in her work with the ballmera crystal caverns, was never one to let Lance sit around and waste away though and usually put him to work if he became too sluggish. Eventually he learned his lesson enough to retreat to his cave when he wanted to sulk. 

The Moon Goddesses phases came and went and with them so did Lances twentieth cycle. That night he snuck away to his beloved cove. It was cold; the sky water coming down in thick heavy white blankets. Lance didn’t care. The cold did not bother Merfolk the way that it seemed to bother the Land Walkers. He went to the cave to retrieve Shiros necklace, clipping it on over his own ballmera crystal jewelry before swimming to shore. He pulled himself from the shallow waters and flopped in the frozen sand, content to spend his time pretending to belong there. To belong in the land of walking.

He wished he could see Wave Walker Shiro. He missed him. Missed the seal like silhouette of him paddling out to sea. The deep timbre of his laugh or the excited whoops of his calls when he would catch an exceptionally good wave. He missed tasting the smell of him on the water. 

Lance began to sing, staring up at the twinkling lights high above in the darkened sky. Singing was one of Lances favorite things to do even if most Mer reserved it for mating season and the full moon. Lance had a nice voice. In fact he was one of the best singers in the pod, but on that night his song was sad. The long drawn out mournful wails echoed back to him off the surrounding cliff sides and out over the roiling waves. 

He sang for the seasons to pass. He sang for the tides to change and the moon goddess above to fade. For the sun in the sky to come back and warm the waters once more so he might see his Wave Walker again.


	2. Pretty Blue Skies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiros point of view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen guys this has a lot of blood in it. If you aren't comfortable PLEASE DO NOT READ!

Shiro is alone in his empty classroom, looking out one of the big windows as the last of the school buses pulls away from the curb in front of Kerberos Elementary School. It’s the end of his third year as a kindergarten teacher and he’s sad to see his kids leaving him for the summer months. Today is his last day as their teacher. Next year they will have moved on. Moved up. Their bright little minds in the hands of another educator.

He sighs and physically pulls himself back together. Forcing his shoulders back, head held high. Eyes dry dammit-all. This is just the way it goes. He should be glad that they’re growing up so quickly to be the best that they can be.

‘You’ve done your job.’ He tells himself as his eyes fall on a piece of pink construction paper laying on the floor. He walks over, bends down to pick it up and flips the paper in his hands as he straightens up. 

It’s a picture of two stick figures holding hands in front of a little red school house. One short with wild blonde ringlets, a red triangle for a dress and a bow on top of her head, the other way taller than even the building in the background with a messy mop of black hair on his head and squinty lines for eyes. The top right corner of the page has Suzie scribbled messily across it. 

Shiro’s heart squeezes painfully in his chest, a drop falling on the blurring page in his big hands. He sucks in a sharp breath through his nose and tilts his head backwards as he berates himself for being silly. He’s still trying to rapidly blink the salty dampness from his eyes when his cellphone pings from his desk at the front of the empty classroom. 

He marches over and hesitates before pulling his briefcase out from beneath his desk, clicking the latches open and carefully stowing the artwork into an empty folder for safe keeping. He relocks the case and flops back into his squeaky rolling chair, scooping his black phone from the worn desktop and clicking it open. 

There’s a new message from his little brother.

3:24 pm Keith:  
Going to the beach at four. You in?

Shiro stares at the message for a second before glancing over to the stack of flat cardboard boxes and packing tape he has sat in the corner of the room beneath the blackboard. 

He really should be packing up his classroom but… he does technically have a week to wrap everything up for the year. Surfing would be a great distraction from his… seasonal melancholy.

3:37 pm Shiro:  
Sure. Hunk coming out today? 

He types out before standing and pocketing the device. He grabs up his travel coffee mug and briefcase before heading for the door and locking it behind him. He’s just climbing into his old beat up black pickup truck when the soft ping of his text alert goes off again. He pulls the device from his back pocket and flicks to the new message as his other hand grabs his keys from his console and clumsily shoves the biggest one into the ignition, turning it over and bringing the engine roaring to life. 

He pauses before shifting into drive to reply to Keith’s message.

3:46 pm Keith:  
Not sure let me ask.

3:47 pm Shiro:  
Leaving work now ill message you when I get home.

Shiro lives by himself in a small white cottage about a fifteen minute drive out of town. It’s secluded and outdated. The plumbing is shit and his service is awful but it’s cheap and clean and has no pesky neighbors to worry about. The best part is that it’s practically hanging off a cliffside by the ocean. 

Some of his best days are spent sitting on this overhang watching sunsets and sunrises. The froth of the waves crashing against the cliffside far far below.

In the summer months he leaves the windows open to the cool nights breeze, the distant roar of the ebbing tide breaking against the sharp rocks below the only lullaby he’ll ever need as he fades into sleep.

Today he is too excited to sit and watch the horizon. As soon as his truck rumbles to a stop in the dirt drive he swings his rusty door open and hops out to jog inside and grab his surf bag containing the fins to his long board, a bottle of extra strength sunscreen, board wax and his summer wetsuit. He dashes into the kitchen to snag a few bottles of water from the fridge as well, tossing them in the drawstring bag with the rest. 

Shiro grabs his board off the front porch on his way out and carefully lowers it into the bed of his truck with the bag before climbing back in and pulling his phone from his back pocket to check for more messages. 

4:12 pm Keith:  
Hunks working a double at the shop. Still coming?

4:23 pm You:  
Leaving the cottage now. Be there in ten.

 

He sends the message even though he knows Keith’s probably out on the water already, not one to wait for anything or anyone when the siren song of the ocean is calling.

Almost exactly ten minutes later Shiro pulls up to the sand dunes near their usual surf spot. Its crowded today, the sun a perfect golden coin high above in the baby blue skies with only the barest wisps of fluffy white clouds stretched to the horizon. 

Shiro doesn’t care if it looks odd for a man to be walking across the sand in business casual, he quickly makes his way to the public shower and restroom and is in and out in his short sleeved wetsuit in no time with a healthy amount of sunscreen slathered over the bridge of his nose and rubbed into the rest of his exposed skin. His button up, slacks, belt, boxers, socks and loafers all tucked safely away in his bag. 

Shiro winces as he takes a deep breath and the constricting mesh fabric of his wetsuit pulls tightly over his sensitive chest. He frowns down at the offending area as the zipper tries to edge its way down. The snug material may be becoming a little… too tight. He sighs and forces the zipper back up with a harsh tug glancing up when a group of college age girls walking by giggle at his predicament. One, braver than the rest, slides her large dark sunglasses down the bridge of her nose and smacks the pink bubblegum she’s chewing with an almost predatory grin.

Shiro blushes and mumbles his ‘pardon me’s and ‘excuse me’s as he brushes past and trots back to the truck to grab his board. He fishes the board wax out of his bag before grabbing his usual towel and a water bottle and heading down to find an empty spot to set up.

Five more tugs at his traitorous zipper and one waxed board later Shiro hops to his feat and does some basic but thorough stretches and finally, FINALLY, runs out into the waves and dives down onto his board to paddle out through the surf, holding his breath and pushing under the crashing swells before they can send him tumbling back in towards the shallows.

Shiro cuts through the water past the tourists and the swimmers on his brightly painted white and blue board to join the slim dark-haired figure of his brother just past the breaking point. Keith’s hair whips past his face in the strong wind and Shiro chuckles as he watches his baby brother repeatedly swipe the offending swathe from his damp skin. 

“Forgot your hair tie again?” He teases, having to raise his voice to be heard over the sound of the ocean roiling around them and the gulls wheeling above. 

Keith shoots him a light glare but otherwise doesn’t rise to the goading. 

“Took you long enough old man.” He scoffs, arms crossed over his chest with the slightest smug uplift to his lips.

Shiro barks out a surprised laugh at the teasing, pouting up at his younger brother in fake offense as he pulls up beside him and pushes himself up to straddle his board, letting his feet kick lazily in the warm water at his sides.

“Old? I’m not even six years your senior. If anything you’re just a baby.” He laughs, leaning over to shove Keith playfully on the shoulder.

Keith grins back then turns to glance over his shoulder at the building swells. 

“You stretch properly?” He asks, face still turned away into the wind. 

Shiro can barely make out the words with the sea breeze whipping them away but he can hear the smile on his brothers face and it warms his chest, a tight coil in his stomach slowly coming loose. Shiro is starting to feel relaxed for the first time in days. 

This is where he’s supposed to be he thinks to himself, letting his eyes slip shut and his head roll back on his shoulders. He inhales the briny air, can taste it on the back of his tongue, turns his face into the salty mist spraying up around them.

“Yup!” He chirps cheerfully, a lazy grin spreading over his face as he slowly slips backwards, melting under the burning rays of sunshine from overhead, arms bent and supporting all of weight on the flat of his forearms. 

Keith glances over and frowns. He jams his foot into Shiro’s thigh and huffs when he realizes his brother has absolutely zero intention of moving anytime soon. He rolls his eyes fondly at the cat like display of sunbathing and turns his attention back to the constantly roiling surf around them, waiting. Waiting. Waiting. 

Shiro splutters when a huge splash of water smacks him in the mouth, Keith finally having shot off in the direction of a fast approaching swell of decent size. At least a head and a half. Shiro leans up far enough to shield his eyes from the sun with one hand so he can track Keith’s movements.

“Hold… Hold Keith…” He mumbles under his breath as he sits all the way forward to better watch. He’s been teaching him for years but Keith is still notorious for jumping the barrel in his excitement. 

Shiro’s eyes flicker between Keith and the rapidly approaching wave. Keith doesn’t move. Overcompensating for his bad habit Shiro realizes. 

“Now! Keith GO!” Shiro yells, but still Keith starts up a little late and Shiro sits back with a wince of sympathy sucking on his front teeth in mild disappointment. 

Keith keeps paddling though and Shiro watches with a growing sense of warm pride as his little brother somehow manages to get picked up by the curl, arching up and into a low crouch at just the right moment. Keith drops in through the top of the lip with a victorious cry laughing out loud when he shreds up the inside and Shiro nearly flips his board when his arms shoot straight out and up into the air as he cheers. 

“YES! Woohoo!” He whoops, hands cupped around his mouth to carry the sound over the crashing of the waves around them. 

Keith must hear him because suddenly he’s turning to laugh over his shoulder eyes shining, smile stretched so wide it must be painful. Shiro sees what’s about to happen half a second before Keith realizes it himself as the tail of his board is swept up into the collapse of the tunnel behind him. Panic seizes over his features as he loses his balance getting stuffed in the barrel. One second he’s there and the next he’s gone.

Shiro is still laughing when Keith’s head finally pops up from the foamy soup in the waves wake, a firm scowl etched into his brow as he shakes the black strands of wet hair from his face and jerkily swims for his upside down board bobbing nearby.

“You distracted me!” Keith yells, only serving to send his older brother into a second wave of hysterics. Keith growls, righting the short blood red board and swinging a leg up to pull himself on. 

“You wouldn’t have done any better under those circumstances” Keith grumps as he pulls up beside Shiro’s longer heavier board.

“Is- Is that a challenge?” Shiro chuckles, swiping the black of his bangs from his forehead as he turns to grin menacingly at the smaller boy.

“Only if you think you can keep up.” Keith shoots back.

“Oh young padawan, must I show you the ways of the force every time?” Shiro says in a mock serious voice, staring down the bridge of his nose with a sly glint in his eyes.

Keith only rolls his eyes with a huff and a small upturn to one side of his mouth. 

“Bring it on old timer.”

~~~

In the end a panting red faced Keith calls it a draw and Shiro good naturedly agrees and scrubs one of his large hands through his brothers flattened hair. 

“I’m proud of you Keith.” Shiro says, looking down at his embarrassed and grumpy sibling. 

“Yeah, well… You too or somethin’. You sap.” Keith grumbles with a slight red hue dusting the tips of his ears. Keith begins to paddle back into shore only to stop and throw a questioning look over his shoulder when he realizes Shiro isn’t following.

“You comin’ in?” He asks, one eyebrow raised and a frown pulling the edges of his mouth down.

“No not yet. I’m going to try to soak up some more of this sun before it gets too late.” Shiro says leaning back once more and letting his eyes slip shut with a small sigh.

“Well whatever, just don’t stay out here too late, you know it’s not safe at dusk.” Keith says sternly making Shiro chuckle to himself and crack an eye as he watches him go.

“Who’s the big brother here again?” He calls after his retreating figure. Keith’s only answer is his finger raised high in the air and Shiro really laughs at that before flopping back to sprawl out along his board, arms and legs dangling from either side into the warm water.

It can’t be ten minutes later that Shiro feels the brush of… fingers? Against the back of his knuckles. He flies forward into a sitting position with a surprised yelp, yanking his hand up to cradle to his chest. He peaks over the side of his board into the turquoise water below for a good thirty seconds before blowing out a large huff of air he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

He must’ve just dosed off or something. There’s no way that was real. It had just felt so…

Yeah it was a dream. Just a really realistic one. That’s all. 

And yet… 

Shiro felt a slight blush heating his cheeks as he quickly glanced around before slowly leaning over the edge of his board once more.

“You’re being silly.” He whispers to himself, shaking his head with a sigh as he sits back up.

Just then something big hits the bottom of his board and Shiro really does screech then. 

SHARK! His panicked brain immediately supplies. Every killer shark movie he’s ever watched in his life suddenly flashing through his mind along with the classic Jaws theme.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!” He hisses, paddling as hard as he can for the shore.

In the end it doesn’t matter how fast he’s swimming or whether the sun is still a decent ways up in the sky. It doesn’t matter that there are hundreds of people laying on the beach just out of earshot of him even if he did try to yell out a warning. It doesn’t matter that he can see Keith’s flaming red board facing belly out towards the surf with the silhouette of the oceans greatest hunter painted on the bottom of it. 

Shiro can remember the panicked gasping of his own breath, the harsh spray of salt water cresting over the tip of his board, the burn in his arms as he pulls himself through the water. 

Shiro can remember the sharp cracking of his splintering board beneath him. He remembers the white hot fire clawing up his entire right side and the ringing in his ears. He remembers the feel of rough cold skin and unyielding muscle under his left hand as his fingers scrabble uselessly against the great beasts powerful side and the numbing rush of their decent back into the churning water below.

He remembers a lot. But most of all he remembers the blood. So much blood. Blood choking him. Blood blinding him. Filling his nose and his eyes and his mouth as he screams. The harsh copper taste rushing down his throat. A truly nasty mix with the salty water. He gags and the world goes black.

Shiro knows he lost time then. Everything afterwards nothing but sharp violent flashes.

Flashes of Keiths panicked screaming as he was drug from the water. The gut wrenching sobbing of his little brother as he desperately tried to stem the never ending flow of blood gushing from what was left of his right arm. He can remember the raw burn of his vocal chords straining under the force of his own shrieking. More black. Then he’s wretching and twisting in the dark red sand. He remembers thinking that the sky was beautiful. Remembers trying to talk to Keith. Trying to tell him everything would be alright. He remembers briefly, hysterically, thinking about how he’d just lost his dominant hand. How was he supposed to do anything now? 

The very last thing he remembers is Keiths horrified expression, face painted red and blue with the glowing lights of the approaching ambulance, at the uncontrolled burst of hysterical laughter that escaped him then as he thought. 

“Wow, this really fucking SUCKS.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is a replay with Lance and then that should be the last of the blood I promise.


End file.
